


i think i was blind before i met you

by finnhoe



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bottom Bucky, College Student AU, M/M, Mention of Character Death, Mention of past emotional abuse, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Strangers to Lovers, bucky has anxiety, bucky is painfully a millenial, bucky likes to wear black nail polish cos hes emo, coffeeshop meet au, it moves fast but they REALLY like each other okay, post serum steve, steve and sam are veterans that were on the same squadron, steve is a barista, this is me projecting myself onto bucky thanks for listenig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnhoe/pseuds/finnhoe
Summary: steve is an unsuspecting barista at a university starbucks and bucky is a college student that just needs some sleep, godammit. making out, phone number exchanges, ice skating, and car sex ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: i dont know shit about army ranks, i just googled and hoped for the best  
> also, i wrote bucky's anxiety and ocd based on my own (i love projecting onto characters ;DD)  
> also, when bucky curses in the beginning it's "go to hell" in romanian (according to google) and when natasha curses in russian at the end it means "fuck you" (also according to google)  
> enjoy!

What the hell,” Bucky is less than impressed. He just got back his paper from his professor and it’s a D.

And look, Bucky isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. But he doesn’t get D’s (at least, those D’s).

Especially in his fifth year of college.

Bucky scrubs his hands over his face, and buries them in his slightly greasy black hair that’s unceremoniously tied back. He knew the paper was shitty, but not that shitty.

Now, he's going to fail the class and then his GPA is going to tank and he's going to flunk out of college and he's going to be homeless and die at the ripe age of 30. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and releases a big sigh.

“You okay, dude?” Natasha tugs on his grey hoodie from her seat behind him.

Bucky has to remember to take a deep breath in, and a deep breath out so he doesn’t take his anger out on her.

“Yes. I’m just fucking dandy,” the breath didn’t work because Bucky snaps his answer.

He turns around, apology on his lips, but Natasha interrupts him, “It’s alright. I get it,” with an empathetic smile.

Bucky attempts a smile, but it quickly vanishes as he turns back around and slumps against the back of his chair.

He looks at his lap and plays with a string on his black joggers. He turns it over in his hands, like he’s going to tug it off, but doesn’t. He always tears a hole when he does. He looks at his chipped dark blue nail polish. The way it’s chipped is tugging at his OCD, even if he’s taking medication. 

He tries to resist the urge to not shred his nails and take the polish off, like he’s done in the past. He always leaves a pile of nail polish remnants on the floor and gets yelled at. 

Bucky sighs again and sits on his hands, trying to listen to whatever the professor is saying about why everyone’s paper were shit.

He pulls out his phone and hides it behind his open laptop screen. He unlocks the screen, smiling a bit at the picture of his family cat asleep in the dip of his back. Her name is Carrot and she’s a scruffy little orange tabby he found on the street about six years ago.

He sends a text about their professor to Natasha, out of boredom.

_ he look like the naked mole rat off kim possible _

Bucky smiles at his joke and locks his phone, feigning attention to aforementioned naked mole rat. He’s half a thought into another insult when his phone lights up.

_ Maybe the reason u got a D is cuz u insult the prof instead of listening :/ _

Bucky rolls his eyes, even though she can’t see him. He’s about to start a snarky reply concerning how Natasha looks like Kim Possible when the professor calls his name.

“James, is something bothering you?” The guy says, and Bucky has to refrain from a second eye roll when everyone turns back to look at him.

“Nope,” Bucky retorts, popping the P and smirking.

The professor pauses for a minute, like he wants to argue back. He apparently decides not to, because he shakes his head and mumbles to himself before finishing what he was saying.

Bucky is finishing his text when Natasha kicks his ass through the gap in the back of his chair. Hard.

“Fuck!” the curse is loud and clear, and Bucky realizes what he did as he slaps his hand over his mouth and makes desperate eye contact with the teacher. But he knows it’s too late.

“James, since you obviously are having some issues today, how about you leave the classroom?” The professor doesn’t miss a beat, and Bucky knows he was just waiting for an excuse to kick Bucky out. Bucky’s not exactly the teacher’s pet.

Bucky slowly nods his head and mutters, “Du-te dracu,” under his breath.

He shoots Natasha his best death glare before swiftly grabbing his laptop and bag. He notices everyone is still staring at him, and rolls his eyes.

He slips his leather jacket back on and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. He keeps his shoulders back and slaps on his best smartass smirk as he walks down the aisle of seats, not breaking eye contact with the professor.

As he passes the professor, he slaps the man’s shoulder and chirps, “Have a great day, Gramps.”

He can hear the professor sigh loudly as he opens the door and lets it shut behind him.

His smile immediately falls and he goes to slouch against the wall. He puts his head back, shutting his eyes. Kicked out of class and it’s only 9 am. That’s a new record.

Bucky allows himself another 30 seconds to internally rage at himself and at Natasha. He’s totally gonna leave his laundry all over the floor at their apartment just to piss Natasha off.

He slowly inhales and exhales like his therapist tells him to before pushing himself off the cold wall. He decides he might as well make the most of his free time and go get some coffee.

He tugs his hood over his messy hair and puts his fingerless gloves on before opening the door, braving the cold New-York-in-December chill.

Whatever. Professor whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is will get over it. It’s a fucking philosophy class.

The campus is quiet. Everyone is either in class or in the dorms because of the snow. He hates the 9 am classes, but it was the only one left because he signed up late for his classes this year. His major is Forensic Psychology, and he’s in his first year of getting his masters for it. He’s not sure what the hell Philosophy has to do with it, but hey. Capitalism and sucking the life out of broke college students at its finest.

The campus Starbucks is thankfully right across the social science building, so he gets there with minimal trudging through the snow. He doesn’t think his four year old black boots can take much more.

When he opens the door, he’s assaulted by warm air and the sound of a blender. It’s bright, a little too bright. Bucky has to squint a bit before his eyes acclimate to the light. It’s not busy in there, which makes sense because Brooklyn hipsters love the idea of Starbucks and snow, but they also don’t wake up until 12 pm on Saturdays.

He realizes there’s no line, just one worker that’s cleaning a machine with his back towards Bucky. The shop is empty, save for the one professor in the corner, who is furiously typing away on his laptop.

He walks to the counter and pulls his phone out to see a text from Natasha three minutes ago.

_ Baldy McBaldness just finished his rant about how millennials are entitled brats. I dont think u’ve made a teacher more irritated and i respect that _

Bucky snorts, but then remembers he’s mad. He decides to leave her on read. That’ll show her.

Bucky doesn’t look up from his phone as he walks, or rather, sulks. He knows he goes here too often when he memorizes the number of steps to the counter.

He’s exiting out his messaging app and starts, “Yeah can I get, uh,” locking his phone and looks up and, oh.

_ Oh. _

He’s never seen this guy, but he looks straight out of a lab. He has shoulders and biceps for  _ days _ and Bucky wants to hold onto them as Hot Guy f-

Nevermind.

The warm glow from the light in the shop is making the guy glow. He’s got blonde hair, but not too blonde where he looks like someone in a teen beach movie, but soft blonde where it reflects light with a sort of ambience that soothes you. He has cheekbones to die for. But not the cheekbones that make you look tired and neglected. The cheekbones that aren't the most prominent feature, but when you notice them it’s like  _ holy shit how’d i miss those fuckers _ .

And his eyes. He has these kind eyes that are endless, deep cerulean blue and Bucky wants to stare at them forever.

And fuck, it’s been too long of a pause to make it seem normal.

“Uh, sorry, uh,” Bucky is stumbling over his words again and he feels a little lightheaded before he realizes he hasn’t eaten today and maybe he really shouldn’t be getting coffee because it’s going to make his anxie-

“Lemme guess. Venti peppermint mocha?” Hot Guy tears him out of his thoughts and _shit_ _he can tear something else of Bucky’s too_ and he realizes he should respond.

“Um. Yeah. Sure,” Bucky manages, even though he’s never tried that drink before, “Thanks. I’m Bucky,” Buck internally hits himself when he realizes Hot Guy definitely didn’t ask for his name.

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m Steve,” and Bucky swears Hot Gu-  _ Steve _ just  _ winked _ and it's all of a sudden real hot in this godforsaken Starbucks.

“Uh,” Bucky’s hands twitch and he forgets the protocol for buying a coffee before he remembers  _ oh yeah i should pay now. _

He pulls his debit card out of his pocket (he should really stop putting it there because he’s lost it three times already from it slipping out) and inserts the chip side into the scanner. He bounces on his toes, trying to look anywhere but Steve’s eyes because he is making a monumental embarrassment of himself and he’s usually so good at flirting but this guy is  _ fucking it up _ .

Fuck you, Hot Guy Steve. 

Steve finishes writing Bucky’s name and his drink on the red cup (the hipster inside Bucky fucking loves the red cups). He sets it aside, and puts his eyes back on Bucky.

Steve is looking Bucky up and down, eyes faltering over his lips.

Bucky is squirming under Steve’s gaze because he hasn’t showered in days and his hood is still on and he probably looks like he’s about to go rob an old lady. 

“Receipt?” Steve asks as Bucky pulls his card back out of the machine. 

When Bucky looks back up, Steve is actually smirking and Bucky is torn between wanting to kiss him or punch his smug grin.

“No, thanks,” Bucky mutters, eyes still flicking between Steve’s lips (nice, very nice) and his eyes (also very nice).

“Then we’re good. Thanks, Bucky,” Steve smiles, and he knows what he’s doing to Bucky.

Bucky mutters a weak, “Thanks,” before moving to the other side of the counter where you pick up your drink.

He leans back on the closest table and puts his hood down. He tucks the fallen strands of hair behind his ears, trying to look at least semi-put together. His leather jacket is shrugged off because it’s a lot hotter in there than outside.

He realizes his hands are shaking, and that’s a sign he  _ definitely _ should not have any caffeine today. Stupid Hot Guy and stupid anxiety and stupid smart ass attitude that gets him kicked out of class. He suddenly feels the urge to cry, tears prickling the back of his eyes.

It’s been such a long week and he’s just so  _ tired _ .

“Bucky?” Hot Guy calls his name and  _ oh great _ he’s on the brink of tears in front of this guy.

Bucky forces himself out of his thoughts and quickly scrubs at his eyes and sniffles. He steps toward the counter and goes to grabs the coffee off the counter.

He hisses when the coffee leaks a bit and the hot mixture hits his hand. 

He hears Steve say “Careful!” before he reflexively releases the coffee and he swears it happens in slow motion.

He watches the coffee pathetically drop on the floor. He thinks,  _ me too, coffee cup. me, too.  _

The embarrassment sets in and his stomach is already dropping before he jumps back, avoiding the splatter.

He thanks every god up there that he was a dancer for so long and is able to jump back quickly and easily because he would’ve been mad as hell if the coffee got onto his new grey sweatshirt. It’s fleece lined and he dropped $50 that he didn't have on it.

Bucky sees the puddle of mocha on the floor and he remembers he should be cleaning it up. He springs to action (it’s the fastest he’s moved all week), removing his gloves and grabbing napkins.

Steve is apparently a little smarter because he leaves for a moment and returns with a mop and bucket.

Bucky watches him and his hands full of napkins fall helplessly to his sides, unsure of how to clean with Steve’s body taking up most of the room.

Bucky puts his bag on the table and crouches next to Steve, soaking up the smaller puddle with the napkins.

He feels a stinging to his eyes and this cannot be happening. He wills his eyes to soak up his tears, but they don’t listen. He can feel one, two tear drops and he sniffles. He’s at least always been a silent crier, so maybe Steve won’t notice.

But he does. Of course he does.

“Hey, are you okay?” Steve looks up, eyebrows furrowed with concern, and his eyes are bleeding of kindness.

Bucky waves him off, trying to smile reassuringly, but it doesn’t quite work when his lip trembles and he covers his face with his hand. He leans back against the counter that houses the napkins, creamer, straws. Etc.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day and a long week,” Bucky grits out, voice breaking at the last word.

Steve slides up to sit next to him, and of course he’s the type to stay with you until you’re okay.

“What’s wrong?” Steve offers, and his hand twitches like he wants to reach out to the crying man beside him.

Bucky exhales deeply and laughs, “Oh Buddy, if I told you everything that’s wrong, we’d be in here for days,” he tries for humor, his favorite defense mechanism, as he sniffles and wipes his eyes.

Steve just maintains his gaze. His eyes turn more empathetic after Bucky’s confession.

Bucky hesitates before he decides  _ fuck it  _ and releases,“Today, though, I got a D on my paper and got kicked out of class because I’m stupid and made the teacher hate me,” he's feeling dumb for over sharing to this hot barista guy.

Steve misses a beat, eyes drinking in Bucky’s face. They’re a little less than a foot apart, but Bucky feels like they’re impossibly close.

Steve still says nothing and Bucky watches Steve watch him before he clears his throat.

“Uh, I’m sorry. For spilling the drink,” Bucky’s eyes gesture down to the floor.

Steve drags his eyes from Bucky’s face, and looks back at the mess. He looks like he forgot it was even there. 

“Oh! Oh yeah, don’t worry about it. You aren’t the first to spill your drink in here,” Steve lightly laughs. 

They’re silent for a moment and Bucky picks at his fingers.

Steve notices, of course.

“I like your hands,” Steve blurts, and Bucky looks up at him questioningly.

Steve gets distracted by the way the sun outside lights up the ice blue of Bucky’s eyes, before he explains himself.

“They’re nice. Like delicate,” Steve rushes to correct himself upon the slightly offended look of Bucky’s brows,”In a good way! They’re nice. Also I like the nail polish,” now it’s Steve’s turn to want to punch himself in the face.

Bucky feels a light blush heat up his cheeks,”Thanks. They’re chipped,” Bucky lamely points out.

Steve laughs, even though nothing is funny. 

They look at each other for a few more seconds before Steve attempts a joke, “It’s a good thing you didn’t fall, because then you would’ve fallen for me.”

Bucky is surprised at his bark of laughter, automatically looking around to see who heard that, but he quickly realizes the teacher left and it’s just him and Steve.

Steve likes Bucky’s laugh.

“And tell me why that’d be a bad thing, Steve?” and  _ there we go _ there’s Bucky’s normal self again.

Steve’s smile hasn’t left his face. He just stares at Bucky, who’s own smile starts to grow. Damn Steve and his contagious, 1000 watt mile.

They’re both laughing now, and Bucky doesn’t even know why. Bucky just allows himself to look over Steve’s profile. It’s a damn nice profile.

Steve’s laughter dies down and he looks at Bucky again. Bucky is starting another internal tangent of how nice Steve’s eyes are when the man in question pushes himself off the floor with an ease that leaves Bucky a little hot and bothered.

Steve pulls the mop out of the bucket, starting to clean the mess that’s a few feet from Bucky. Bucky knows he should get up and help, but he would really rather watch Steve’s triceps flex with every push of the mop.

“Like the view?” Steve glances at Bucky, who is still folded on the floor against the counter with his knees to his chest.

“Can’t complain,” Bucky shrugs, eyes lighting up with mischief.

Steve laughs to himself again, and Bucky really likes his smile.

Bucky allows Steve to clean up the mess quietly, and he is watching the furrow of Steve’s brow when the empty cup on the floor catches his eye. It has a sentence written on it.

Bucky groans as he uses his abs to lean forward and grab the cup. He’s out of shape, okay?

Steve’s eyes follow Bucky’s movements and he thinks, _um_ _is that a blush?_

Bucky grabs the cup and carefully avoids the sticky mocha stains on the cup, turning it over. The sentence is in messy scrawl and reads his name, but underneath it it says:

_ You’re cute when you stutter. _

And Steve’s phone number follows.

Bucky can’t help the smile, biting his lip to contain it.

_ what computer made this guy? _

“Uh, can’t you get fired for this?” Bucky raises his eyebrows with a smirk.

Steve shrugs, “Only if you say no and complain,” and he has a look in his eyes that Bucky recognizes as hope and a little bit of nervousness. 

Bucky holds his smirk from the ground and enjoys the fact that now Steve is the flustered one.

“Well, better call the manager. It seems you’ve miscalculated, my guy,” Bucky’s blush contradicts his words.

Steve clicks his tongue and leans back against the bar counter opposite of Bucky, “Damn, and here I was thinking I was irresistible.”

Bucky laughs and starts to get up, groaning as he does so. Steve immediately reaches out his hand, to which Bucky waves away.

“The thing is, Steve,” Bucky is standing up now, leaning against his counter as well,”I’ve  _ clearly  _ got my shit together,” Steve snorts and Bucky throws him a glare before continuing, “And I’ve got  _ plenty _ of doting admirers. What makes you so special?”

Steves eyebrows are slightly raised in a very cute way as he gets a pinch of how much of a smartass Bucky can be. 

And, fuck, Bucky is  _ fucked.  _

“What, my impeccable charm and coffee making skills aren’t enough for you?” Steve retorts, putting the mop back in the bucket and setting out a caution sign on the floor.

“Well you see, I haven’t tasted your coffee. But, if you can make me a perfect mocha in 30 seconds, I’ll give you my number,” Bucky has a shit-eating grin on his face now.

Steve doesn’t hesitate, “Deal.”

Steve walks past Bucky and look, Bucky isn’t a small person. He’s fairly tall and he’s got a lean, muscular build from his years of dance. 

But Steve makes him feel like a tiny speck. The guy only has a couple inches on Bucky, but he really has him in the muscle department. His shoulders and biceps are drool-worthy, and Bucky wants to test just how strong they are.

To put it briefly, Steve is thick with two c’s.

Steve is back behind the counter, and Bucky looks at the clock. It’s suddenly 10 am and Bucky isn’t sure when a half hour passed.

Steve gets a fresh cup and places it on the counter, looking at Bucky expectantly.

“You have a timer?” Steve asks, and shit, yeah he probably needs that.

Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket and opens to his clock. He goes to the stopwatch tab and looks up, “Ready?”, Steve nods, “Go,” Bucky presses start and Steve is a flurry of blonde hair and tanned skin.

Steve is methodical, but rushed. He seems to already know where everything is, reaching out for it without looking. Bucky watches his hands, and how they’re so large yet so purposeful.

_ interesting,  _ Bucky notes. 

Steve is putting the lid on the cup when the time reaches 22 seconds. He’s about to proudly show Bucky when Bucky interrupts him.

“Whip, please,” Bucky sweetly asks, leaning forward from his spot on the other side of the bar.

Steve gives him an irritated glare but he’s already taking the lid off and spraying whipped cream on the top in seconds. He’s putting the lid on the cup again when Bucky yells, “Time!”

Steve looks a little stressed, but accomplished. He slides the cup over to Bucky with a smirk.

“Careful, it’s hot,” Steve smiles, walking around the counter to stand in front of Bucky.

Bucky has a mocking laugh on his lips when he looks up to find Steve real close.

There’s a moment of silence and Bucky suddenly forgot what he was just going to say. Steve eyes him up and down and it goes straight to Bucky’s gut.

He met this guy ten minutes ago but  _ fuck _ he wants Steve to  _ ruin _ him. 

“You gonna kiss me, then?” Bucky dares, and their faces are a few inches apart, with the distance closing by the second.

Steve looks like he’s going to respond with something smart before he closes the last few inches.

It’s strong and passionate. Steve’s hands immediately go to the sides of Bucky’s face, who relishes in the contact. He responds with balling his fists into the material across Steve’s chest. Steve is leaning forward, and Bucky thinks he’s going to get knocked off the counter when he feels strong hands under his thighs and  _ whoop _ there’s no counter underneath him anymore.

Bucky releases a noise of surprise as he wraps his legs around Steve’s back. He opens his mouth further, and vaguely has a thought of hoping no one walks into the shop right now. Steve is kissing him like he’s addicted and chasing the feeling. He kisses like what you read in romance novels. All passion, hands, and just the right amount of dominance.

Steve walks them to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and Bucky feels the wall on his back. He is so immensely turned on by the fact that Steve is doing this all so effortlessly (I mean seriously, is he a bodybuilder?) and he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck with a hand in the blonde hair.

There’s a hand on his waist, then in his hair, slightly pulling it. It’s then he realizes simultaneously that Steve is holding him up with one hand and he is  _ pulling his hair _ . If Bucky was 18 he would be coming in his pants right now.

This is not how Bucky thought his day would go.

Steve’s hand has moved from his hair to slipping under the hem of his joggers, resting on his hip. He’s dangerously close to both of Bucky’s fun areas and he is still kissing Bucky with the heat of 1000 suns so Bucky thinks if it goes any further he  _ will  _ come in his pants like a teenager.

Bucky bites Steve’s lip, eliciting a deep moan from him. Bucky begrudgingly pulls back, hoping Steve will understand he can’t fuck Bucky in the hallway of the place where he works. (Maybe another time).

Steve pointedly does not get the memo, and instead goes to Bucky’s neck. And damn Steve, because it’s his weakness.

“Steve, I have to go” Bucky’s voice is weak, and he knows he isn’t very convincing.

“Go where? Home? So you can get off thinking of me?” Steve kisses Bucky’s neck more gentle this time, which sends another pang to Bucky’s gut.

Bucky breathes a laugh, “Fuck you,” and Steve is looking up at him this time.

Steve’s hair is very ruffled and out of place, and his lips are swollen and red. His cheekbones have a pink color to them, and yet he doesn’t look the faintest out of breath. He looks stunning

Which, come on. That’s not fair.

Bucky is breathing hard and can vaguely feel himself sweating. He’s sure he looks like an alcoholic meth head that just tried to run a mile, thanks to his hollow cheekbones, dark circles, and slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You’re pretty,” Steve observes, and yep, there’s another jolt through his spine.

Bucky laughs it off even though his heart feels like it's running a race, “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Steve doesn’t miss a beat, “I was hoping it’d get me in your life,” Steve dorkily says, and Bucky swears he was going to say something else.

Bucky rolls his eyes with an endeared smile, “Put me down, Hulk-man. I don’t put out on the first date.”

Steve’s smile doesn’t falter, and he retorts, “Oh, I thought I would just keep you here and pin you to the wall along with the other pieces of art.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and uncrosses his feet as Steve finally puts him down.

“First of all, there’s no pictures on this wall,” Steve doesn’t even look at the wall, maintaining eye contact.

Bucky adjusts his pants, tying the string again, “Second of all, you got that off Tumblr.”

Steve has that beaming smile on his face again as he brackets Bucky’s head with his arms against the wall, “Guilty,” and he looks like he’s going to kiss Bucky again.

Bucky shakes his head and laughs, ducking under Steve’s arms to grab his stuff off the table.

Steve lazily follows him, and he’s definitely not hiding his eyes following the movement of Bucky’s thighs and ass.

Bucky turns around, sliding his leather jacket and gloves back on. His lips are still swollen and heart racing, but any signs of anxiety he previously had are gone. He feels…. relaxed??

_ well ain't that somethin’ _ , he thinks. 

“Ain’t you got something to ask me?” Bucky leans on his leg, propping a hand on his hip.

Steve smiles small and holds up the ‘one second’ finger’ to Bucky as he slips behind the counter and into the room behind everything.

Bucky is left alone, and he can’t control his grin as he looks at the floor. He can’t believe all of this just happened in the span of 45 minutes. How is this his life??

He looks up and pushes his loose hair back when Steve comes back, iPhone in hand.

“Oh, thank god,” Bucky releases, and Steve looks at him questioningly.

Bucky points to his phone, “You have an iPhone and not an Android. I might have had to leave if you had an Android.”

Steve smiles, sitting next to Bucky on top of the table, “You know, I almost got the new Samsung.”

Bucky is very offended, “Please don’t ever say that to me again.”

Steve just shakes his head and laughs again, handing Bucky the open contact screen of his phone.

Bucky whistles as he types in his information, “Wow a 7 plus. Didn’t know you were rich, Steve.”

“Shush, I was eligible for an upgrade and they let me trade in my old phone for credit,” Steve watches Bucky’s swift thumbs input his number.

“Whatever you say, Rogers,” Bucky has a smug grin again as he hands the phone back to Steve, and Steve vaguely thinks it has something to do with whatever contact name Bucky chose.

“How do you know my last name?” Steve inquires, watching Bucky soundlessly hop off the table.

“Nametag,” Bucky points to the plaque pinned to Steve’s green t-shirt.

Steve doesn’t look down at his nametag, just takes note of how rich the color of Bucky’s hair is and how nicely it contrasts with his eyes.

“Welp, time to go. Nice meeting you, Steve,” Bucky salutes Steve and turns around on his heel, stepping towards the door.

Steve catches his hand, easily pulling Bucky towards him and Bucky tries not to think about how large Steve’s hands are.

“Dinner. Tonight at 7:30,” Steve says, and the way he says it like a demand instead of a question makes him suddenly forget the smart comment Bucky was going to say. 

Bucky swallows and nods, eyes stuck on Steve’s lips. Steve leans forward and kisses him on the corner of his mouth, resisting the urge to touch Bucky all over. He settles for gently pushing the strands of dark hair behind his ear.

“Text me your address,” Steve whispers next to Bucky’s ear, and Bucky swears those words were never meant to be sexy but Steve could probably make ‘your mom is calling’ sound sexy.

Bucky nods shortly, noticing how long Steve’s eyelashes are as they leave a shadow on his cheekbone. He forces himself to take a step back and release Steve’s hand. Steve doesn’t tear his eyes away for a second, and that damn smile is back. 

When Bucky finally turns around and walks out, he vaguely thinks Steve is going to be the death of him. He also realizes he forgot his coffee. 

 

-

 

“Wait, what?” Natasha’s tone is incredulous after Bucky’s story of what just happened. 

Bucky smiles, amused at the look on her face. It's rare to genuinely surprise her and he’s enjoying this. 

He decides to make her even more shocked.

“I swear, five more minutes and I woulda fucked ‘im, Nat,” Bucky deadpans, crossing his legs underneath him. 

Natasha raises her eyebrows and scoffs. Bucky watches her puts her mug of coffee on the table. Her movements are graceful yet powerful, and Bucky has always loved the way she moves (no hetero, tho).

“... And he wants you to go on a date with him?” Nat inquires.

She's hesitant still, like Bucky is lying to her. 

Bucky, though, doesn't pause, “Yep,” he's smiling despite himself.

He knows he looks like an idiot. 

Natasha scrutinizes Bucky, still looking for the catch that will expose him if he’s made it all up. But  _ oh no ur not gettin’ me this time, nat _ .

Natasha seems to see nothing that contradicts Bucky because she mutters, “Jesus, Bucky,” and leans back into her spot on the couch. 

Bucky just sits there, still faintly thrumming with excitement and nervousness and  _ hope _ . 

She continues, “No wonder you shouted ‘i'm in love’ when you got home. He sounds like a character in a Nicholas Sparks book,” Natasha scoffs a laugh, and now she's smiling, too. 

_ there we go, theres the humour. we are clear for landing, sergeant _

“He's better,” Bucky affirms, solemn in his argument. 

Natasha laughs again and raises her hands in surrender, “All right, all right. When do I meet him?”

Bucky chews on his lip for a second and winces, bracing himself for the oncoming reaction. Natasha likes to think she’s a secret Russian spy whose job is to protect Bucky from every possible threat. She really won’t like Bucky going out with Steve before she can do a background check on him herself (meaning, going to Starbucks and watching him for a couple hours before someone calls campus security on the creepy lady sitting in the corner).

“Uhh, tonight?” Bucky asks like it's a question. 

Natasha’s eyes go comically wide, “Holy shit, Barnes! What the fuck! What if he's a serial killer and wants to get the job done? Why tonight? That's too soon!”

Bucky is quick to object, leaning forward in his fervor, “He is not a serial killer. Serial killers don't have empathy and remember, he sat with me when I started crying. Trust me, I’m a forensic psychologist,” Natasha rolls her eyes but Bucky continues, “Also, I dunno, I just really like him. Like I feel different when I’m with him. The loudness of my mind sinks into the background. I can just  _ be _ ,” Bucky finishes, tone quieter now.

Natasha’s face softens when Bucky talks about the relief of his anxiety. She knows it's really difficult for him to deal with and he’s never found a person like that.

She still pauses for a moment before saying, “Okay. I’m excited for you,” she offers a smile to her best friend. 

Bucky returns a shy smile, “I think that I’m excited for me, too. It’s been a while.”

The last boyfriend Bucky had didn't end well. It's been two years, but Bucky still sometimes hears the guy’s voice, Brock, insulting him whenever he looks in the mirror. That was very ugly and let’s just say that when Natasha heard what Brock did, he didn't leave with a good eye or a full set of good ribs.

Natasha leans forward and puts a reassuring hand on Bucky’s knee, “I know it's been a while. Just know that if he does anything to hurt you, like even  _ look _ at you the wrong way I swear to god, Bucky, I might end up in jail.”

And Bucky knows she means it. 

_ that goddamn crazy russian _

“I know, I know. But, he’s not like that, I swear,” Bucky comments, and his voice has a sense of urgency to it, like he’s desperately needing Natasha to believe in Steve.

He doesn’t know if he’s just wanting himself to believe that, too.

He believes in Steve and seriously thinks he’s a good guy. It’s just going to take so long for Bucky to be able to trust anyone besides Natasha and Bucky wants this to work out so so so much.

“Hey,” Natasha interrupts Bucky’s thoughts and puts his hand down from his mouth and  _ shit _ he didn’t even realize he was gnawing on his fingernails.

Bucky looks up, slipping his hand from Natasha’s and stuffing it under his thigh like he’s embarrassed.

Natasha pretends not to notice, “I love you,” her tone is tender and her eyes kind.

Still, Bucky brushes off his anxiety and uses his favorite defense mechanism: inappropriate humour.

“That’s gay,” Bucky informs, raising his eyebrows to her.

Natasha scoffs and rolls her eyes, “You’re gay.”

Bucky points at her, “You got me there.”

Natasha laughs at him and bats his finger down.

“Pancakes?” Natasha suggests, already getting off the couch to go make some.

And Bucky will be  _ damned  _ the day he says no to pancakes. 

 

-

 

Bucky is lounging on his bed watching Netflix shows, wrapped in a towel from his shower still when his phone buzzes.

He nearly leaps to the foot of the bed where his phone rests. Steve hasn’t texted yet and he’s been waiting.

He, however, forgets he’s wearing a towel and it gets tangled in his legs. This brings a tall arc of his body that ends with him landing face first in the blankets.

He has to sit there, suffocating himself, for a few seconds to reevaluate his life.

_ get it together, barnes _

He recollects himself and sits up, reaching for his phone. He sees the bold numbers that tell him the person is not saved in his contacts and  _ bingo _ it’s what he’s been waiting for all day.

He smiles in anticipation and opens his phone with his thumb. He’s holding his breath as he finally opens his messages and his eyes hungrily read over the line of text.

_ White or black? _

The text is accompanied by two images. One is Steve in a white t-shirt, and it’s paired with a black blazer and dark wash skinny jeans. Bucky’s eyes are trailing down his small, pixelated body, dreaming up fantasies about the biceps straining against the material of the blazer, and the thick thighs that look  _ sinful _ in those jeans. Steve is wearing tan suede shoes that look very nice with the jeans and blazer. Bucky has always had a weakness for well dressed guys.

_ goddamn, rogers _

Bucky doesn’t even need to look at the second picture because he’s fallen in love with the shadows Steve’s muscles cast against the white t-shirt.

He licks his lips and replies at the speed of lightning.

_ definitely white _

He adds a sexual comment along the lines of ‘i wanna rip it off’ before he decides it’s best not to, and he erases that before hitting send.

He realizes how cute it is that their date is hours away, and yet Steve is already trying on outfits. He wonders if anyone helped Steve, like a roommate or something. Bucky feels a vague burn of jealousy of someone else living with him. He tells himself it’s ridiculous to feel jealous because it’s literally day 1 plus his hypothetical roommate would probably be what Natasha is to him.

He shudders at the thought of ever being romantically involved with Natasha

He goes and stares at the picture for another solid thirty seconds, zooming in now on the room Steve took it in. He’s observing the stack of notebooks on the nightstand before he decides  _ that’s creepy, bucky _ and begrudgingly locks his phone.

Bucky flops back on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his room. He’s filled with excitement, giddiness, and a little bit of anxiety. It’s a concoction that makes him slightly nauseous.

He tries to shake that last bit off and decides to start getting ready. It’s only a little after 2 pm, but whatever.

Bucky goes across the room to his dresser, picking out his best underwear (just in case). He decides on his tight briefs that say Star Wars on the back and “Give yourself to the dark side” on the crotch. Natasha got them for him last Christmas. They’re an absolute gem.

He looks at himself in the mirror and turns to the side, admiring the way the underwear makes his butt look.  _ nice _

He walks to his closet and opens the door. He scans the mostly black wardrobe and puts his hands on his hips. He realizes he has no idea what he’s going to wear.

This calls for a higher power.

“Nat!” Bucky yells, not tearing his scrutinizing gaze away from any potential outfits.

His eyes land on an oversized black sweater. It’s super soft and Bucky’s favorite, especially during the winter. He walks to it and runs his fingers over the material. Yes, this’ll work. He takes it off the hanger and slides it over his body, loving the way it hangs loose and shows his collarbones, then how it covers almost all of his hands. 

“Yeah?” Natasha walks into his room, finding Bucky in the closet in nothing but his sweater and Star Wars briefs, “Wow. Thought you came out of there for good.”

Bucky turns to her and rolls his eyes at her poorly attempted gay kid joke, “Ha ha,” he looks at her outfit of boxers and a t-shirt, “Hey, that outfit is mine.”

Natasha waves a hand dismissively, ignoring Bucky, and leans against the door, “Need help with an outfit?”

Bucky nods, “Please. This is how far I’ve gotten,” he gestures vaguely to his sweater.

Bucky doesn’t even finish his sentence before Natasha’s eyes have narrowed on a pair of black ripped skinny jeans. She strides forward and takes them off the hanger, throwing them behind her to Bucky. They land on his head with an “oof” from him.

“Not sure what you picked, but I’m sure it’s fine. What about a jacket and shoes?” Bucky’s voice is muffled under the jeans.

He takes the jeans off his head and gives them an approving nod. 

Natasha hums in response and picks an olive green bomber jacket that has a patch sewn on the arm. It says ‘the United States of kiss my ass’ in bold letters surrounding a picture of Uncle Sam holding his middle finger up. It’s Bucky’s favorite jacket, for obvious reasons.

She tucks the jacket under her arm and crouches to look at Bucky’s shoe collection.

Bucky crouches next to her, attempting to look helpful.

“What about those?” Bucky points to a black pair of Toms that he got when Toms were actually popular and didn’t look like old man slippers.

Natasha glances at them and scoffs, “Yeah, if you want your feet to freeze off.”

Bucky is about to tell her to fuck off before she grabs a pair of brown suede boots and tosses them at him.

He stares at the boots in his hands for a second, “Nat, these were, like, $200.”

Natasha blinks at him like he’s dumb, “Bucky, you’re going on a date. With a really hot guy, apparently. Now is the time.”

Bucky swallows and nods, “You’re right.”

Natasha grabs the clothes and shoes from him, stepping back into the room. She tosses them on the bed and looks at Bucky expectantly.

Bucky stands up and looks at the clothes, “Yes, this is perfect. Thanks, doll,” Bucky kisses her on the cheek.

Natasha smiles, “Anything else?”

Bucky nods and puts on his sweetest smile, “Can you do my hair and nails and maybe some makeup?”

The request involves a solid hour of work. Natasha attempts to look annoyed, but Bucky knows she loves doting on him.

“Come in the bathroom,” Natasha gestures with her head and walks to their shared bathroom with Bucky following.

She reaches under the sink and pulls out a blowdryer and curl brush, along with scissors.

“I need a trim?” Bucky inquires, eyebrows raising.

Natasha shrugs, “Just a bit. Sit down,” she pulls a stool out and gestures to it.

Bucky obliges, sighing and running his fingers through his hair. It reaches his shoulders now, and he’s caught in between cutting it short again or letting it grow out.

Natasha runs a brush through his hair, and he relaxes at the feeling. He loves having his hair brushed and played with.

Also pulled.

But, no matter.

He hears the scissors snip at his hair, and he tenses up before he remembers Natasha knows what she’s doing. He watches as she takes off about half an inch, and it already looks healthier.

She starts drying his hair, using the curl brush to make it soft and light. He watches her in the mirror, at how methodical and quick her hands are. She looks focused with her eyebrows furrowed.

He closes his eyes and is about to fall asleep sitting up after a few minutes before he hears the dryer shut off.

“Up or down?” Natasha implores, running her fingers through his hair.

Bucky opens his eyes to see her watching him, her eyes questioning.

Bucky scans his reflection in the mirror, trying to picture what he’d look like with it up and with it down.

He gives a thoughtful  ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ because he really doesn’t know.

“How about up? I can braid the underside up into a bun?” Natasha asks, and it’s not really a question because she’s already grabbing the bobby pins, hair ties, and hairspray.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs.

Natasha has always known how to make him look good. He trusts her to not make him look like a sad rat man.

Natasha gets back to work. Her fingers move swiftly as she french braids the underside of his hair, tugging too hard sometimes and making Bucky wince.

“Goddamn, Stalin, your fingers pack a punch,” Bucky comments, hand flying to the back of his head to massage the area.

Natasha swats his hand as best she can with them full of his hair and mutters, “ пошел на хуй”.

Bucky has no idea what that means but he’s sure it’s some form of a curse word directed at him. She hates the Russian nicknames. Bucky loves them.

She (finally) finishes the braid, and ties his hair back into a loose messy bun.

“I don’t know how you perfected the messy bun, Nat. Everytime I try, it ends in me ripping out hair and/or a major headache,” Bucky sighs, looking at the bun while vaguely impressed.

Natasha answers, “Magic,” while she looks at Bucky’s reflection and pulls a few strands of hair out to frame his face.

She grabs the can of hairspray and Bucky covers his face with his hands to avoid any of the spray getting on him. She sprays his hair down and admires her work.

She sets the can on the counter and turns back to him.

“Okay, now brows. Your’s aren’t bad, there’s just a few strays,” Natasha observes.

Bucky groans, “I hate getting them done, it hurts so bad.”

Natasha ignores him, “Sit on the counter.”

Bucky pouts further and finally stands up. He hops on the counter, bracing himself for the pain.

Natasha rolls her eyes before brushing through his brows, “Woman up.”

Bucky mocks her and she pulls the first hair, cutting him off as he yelps. She doesn’t hesitate, quickly pulling at the overgrown area of hair.

Bucky is starting to sweat as she finishes one eyebrow. He can’t do this.

“I can’t do this,” Bucky decides, starting to leap off the counter.

Natasha grabs his shoulder and laughs, “Oh, no you don’t,” before shoving him back against the mirror with a little more strength than perhaps necessary.

Bucky whines again, but Natasha is ruthless.

She goes back in for the kill, and Bucky is squeezing his eyes shut, trying to think about anything else except the pain. It doesn’t work.

He really doesn’t know how Natasha does this to herself without even flinching. He’s watched her do it before, mouth hung open in awe and horror.

She’s thankfully done quickly, and Bucky can breath again. She puts some of her sensitive skin toner on a cotton ball and rubs it over his eyebrows to calm the slightly red area.

“Okay, what do you want for makeup?” Natasha asks, putting away her tweezers into the drawer and replacing them with her makeup supply.

Bucky thinks about it for a moment before replying, “A little bit of eyeliner, mascara, and bronzer with highlight?”

He wants subtle, but still looking ready to kill.

That’s his favorite aesthetic.

Natasha nods and pulls out her pencil eyeliner. She instructs him to close his eyes, which he does. She carefully yet quickly puts a thin line of eyeliner on his lids, then uses a brush to smudge it out.

“Look at me,” Natasha guides.

Bucky does and she evens out the corners until she’s satisfied. She then puts the black pencil on his waterline and tightline, in order to accentuate his eye color.

Bucky also hates that part, and he backs away subconsciously while she does it.

“If you back away one more inch, I’m going to shove this eyeliner pencil into your eyeball,” Natasha threatens, leveling him with a glare.

Bucky gives in, and does his very best to stay still while she lines his eye.

She goes in with a brush, and sets the waterline with black eyeshadow.

Bucky watches as she puts away the eyeliner and pulls out her mascara. She brings it to his eyes and tells him to blink every other second. 

“Okay, done with the eyes. You want a gold or silver highlight?” Natasha asks, turned away from Bucky as she searches for her bronzer and highlight.

“Gold,” Bucky decides, picking at the remnants of polish on his fingers.

She turns back to him and glances at his hands,”We’ll fix those, too.”

Bucky nods and puts his hands in his lap before looking at her again.

Natasha puts her brush in the compact of bronzer and brushes the product on lightly to the hollow of Bucky’s cheekbones. The brush is soft and Bucky thinks it should be made into a blanket.

Not like a hair blanket, but a blanket made of blanket stuff with the equivalent softness of the makeup brush.

You could call it the Brushket.

Bucky smiles to himself because of his innovation.

Natasha puts the gold highlight on her fan brush and dusts it over his cheekbones and brow bones. She also decides to put some on the tip of his nose, cupid’s bow, the inner corner of his eyes, and some on his collar bones for good measure. They both really love highlighter.

“There,” Natasha puts her hands on her hips and scans over Bucky’s face.

Bucky hops off the counter and turns around to look at his reflection.

And  _ hot damn i look good _

He turns his face to the side to admire how good his cheekbones looked with the subtle highlight and bronzer. The blue in his eyes is stark against the black eyeliner and black strands of hair around his face.

“You’re a life-saver, Nat. I’m forever indebted,” Bucky hugs her to his chest dramatically, pretending to wipe his tears.

Nat laughs against him, and shoves him off, “Go put some pants on, diva.”

Bucky gives her a large grin before turning to go back into the bedroom.

He struts in his walk now, feeling incredibly confident. He has a stupid smile on his face, thinking about what Steve will say when he sees him.

He shakes his head to himself and grabs his jeans. Here goes the process dubbed Let’s Try To Put On These Excessively Tight Jeans Without Breaking An Ankle Or Two.

He puts one ankle in, then the other. He just shaved and exfoliated, so his legs slip in easier than normal. He pulls the jeans up by the belt loops, despite breaking other jeans by doing just that. He shimmies into them with minimal hopping and sweating and then zips and buttons them.

Mission accomplished.

He realizes his feet are cold because he isn’t wearing socks. His toenail polish isn’t that chipped so he just pulls some socks with cats on them on his feet. He rolls up the cuffs of his jeans so they’ll hit right at the top of his boots.

Now, his nails.

“Nat, what color do you think?” Bucky asks, walking back to the bathroom.

She’s sitting on the counter scrolling through her phone before she looks up at him. She scans over his outfit and thinks about it for a moment before she answers, “Black.”

Bucky has a fleeting thought he’s going to look super emo and scare Steve off, but whatever. It’s his Aesthetic ™.

Bucky nods and pulls out the polish remover, nail file, black polish, and clear coat. He starts taking off his blue polish and sits on the stool.

Natasha kicks him gently with her toe, getting his attention, “You nervous?”

Bucky doesn’t answer for a moment, scrubbing at his index finger. Is he nervous? I mean, yeah, but not like, bad nervous. He doesn’t really know what he feels but he just feels like he’s slightly buzzing and his stomach has an edge of anxiety and his heart has a pace of excitement.

He settles for a shrug in response to her question.

“Well, since you already had a breakdown in front of him and he still almost fucked you, I don’t think he’s the type to be insensitive to anxiety,” Natasha acknowledges, locking her phone and turning her attention to Bucky.

Bucky considers this, “Maybe he has an anxiety fetish.”

Natasha laughs, and a slow smile creeps across Bucky’s face.

“All done,” Bucky tosses the dirty cotton pads in the trash and stands up.

“Okay, sit on the floor and I’ll sit on the stool,” Natasha instructs, grabbing what she needs off the counter.

Bucky does what she says, sinking to the floor and crossing his legs.

“I’m excited for you to meet him,” Bucky notes.

Natasha starts painting over his nails and responds, “I am, too. He better be damn good after all the gushing you did earlier.”

Bucky smiles and bites his lip, “He is,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

Natasha glances up to see her best friend smiling to himself and she knows he’s gonna fall hard for this one.

If Steve fucks it up, Natasha will not hesitate before chopping the guy’s dick off and feeding it to him.

They sit in comfortable silence for the next twenty minutes, occasionally broken by Natasha telling Bucky to move his hands in one way or another.

In this time, Bucky is able to overthink about every possible thing.

Is Steve gonna like his outfit? What if it’s really too much black for him and he prefers someone more bright and colorful? Oh god, what if his eyeliner smudges and Steve is too nice to fix it for him.

_ calm down, barnes _

Bucky has to remind himself to breathe because he’s pretty sure he’s been holding in one breath.

He hates this. He hates the constant anxiety, he hates always vaguely feeling sick, he hates being paranoid of every little thing, he hates the obsessive thoughts and obsessive tendencies.

It all just gets too  _ loud _ and it  _ hurts _ and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. He’s a slave to his own brain.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when Natasha pats him on the hand and sighs, “Done. Don’t fuck it up, okay? It’s still drying.”

He wordlessly nods, still trying to shake himself off.

“I’m gonna go in the kitchen for some late lunch. You should eat something. You had coffee this morning and I know you’re anxious,” Natasha suggests, putting away the nail supplies and the stool back in the corner so Bucky doesn’t trip over it later.

Bucky forces himself to look up at her and tries to ignore his brain.

“Okay, sure. What time is it?” Bucky asks, standing up, while being careful to not smudge his nails.

Natasha pulls out her phone from her pocket, “3:46.”

Bucky’s stomach gives a lurch because in about three hours, he’ll be with Steve.

He manages a nod, and gives himself a once over in the mirror. He’s not feeling nearly as confident as he was earlier.

He tries to ignore himself and shuts the light off, going to the kitchen.

Bucky goes and sits on the counter, watching Natasha grab some bread and supplies for sandwiches. 

He suddenly remembers he hasn’t checked his phone since he told Steve which shirt.

He jumps off the counter and holds back the urge to sprint to his room. He walks like a human with dignity,  _ thank you very much _ .

Once he reaches his room he sits on his bed and grabs his phone. He presses the home button and is greeted with two messages from the same number as earlier, sent three hours ago.

Bucky didn’t even remember to save his contact.

The first message reads:

_ You like your men like you like your shirts. _

Then:

_ White and slightly dirty. _

Bucky smiles and lightly blushes. 

He decides a text back is better late than never. His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types:

_ hopefully ur more than just slightly dirty _

He hits send, biting his lip at the insinuation. He just knows Steve is going to be the best lay he’s ever had and will ever have.

Don’t ask how he knows, he just does.

He gets a reply within a minute.  _ fast texter, he’s after my heart,  _ Bucky notes.

_ You’ll find out soon enough. _

Bucky is typing out a reply when another message comes in.

_ You never sent me your address. _

Bucky quickly types it out and hits send. He hesitates before sending:

_ don’t be late ;) _

Bucky decides that’s enough text time and he locks his phone and puts it on the charger. He hears it buzz again but he resists the urge to open it. He’s feeling giddy again after talking to Steve and that means he will probably turn harmless flirting into sexting and it’s a bit too soon for that.

He goes back to the kitchen and grabs the sandwich Natasha made along with a glass of water. He decides to sit on the couch and binge watch his favorite show Shameless with her to take his mind off tonight.

 

-

 

The doorbell rings. Bucky sits up rod straight, almost knocking over his (now empty) glass that is balanced on the couch.

“Shit, he’s here,” Bucky grabs his and Natasha’s plates.

“Hey! I’m not done!” Natasha objects, watching as Bucky takes the dishes to the sink.

Bucky is already going to his room before he yells over his shoulder, “Don’t care. Get the door! And put pants on!”

He can hear Natasha grumble as she pulls some sweats on.

He hears the door open as he shoves his feet in his boots and slides his jacket on. He speedwalks to the bathroom, putting deodorant on and spraying his favorite perfume on his neck and wrists.

He hears voices in the front room, and grabs his phone and some gloves. He goes to his mirror and checks himself over. He wills himself to calm his breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly. It’s just Steve. They hit it off easily the first time and now is no different.

He puts his phone in his pocket and slides his knit gloves on.

He can do this.

Bucky fixes his hair one last time before heading out of his room.

He steps through the hallway and sees Natasha scrutinizing Steve with her body language, like she’s looking for an excuse to dislike him.

Steve is ignorant of that fact, as it seems he’s in the middle of telling her what he uses for some kind of art. He makes an art joke, and Natasha finally cracks a smile.

Bucky sighs of relief, forgetting that the noise makes his presence known.

Steve turns to look at him, eyes widening. He scans over Bucky’s frame, spending extra time on his collarbones and face. During this, Natasha slips out, squeezing Bucky’s arm on the way.

“Goddamn,” Steve observes, still not tearing his eyes from Bucky.

Bucky blushes, moving forward to come closer to Steve.  _ compliment him, dumbass _

Bucky manages a, “You clean up well,” allowing himself to drag his eyes over Steve’s body.

Steve smiles and scrubs the back of his neck, “I could say the same to you.”

Bucky looks faux offended, “You kiddin’? Doll, I looked this good, if not better, the first day we met.”

Steve easily smiles, pulling Bucky in for a hug. Bucky goes easily, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Steve’s obscenely broad shoulders

“You smell good,” Steve breathes into Bucky’s neck.

His breath sends a chill through Bucky’s body, ending at his groin. He breathes a laugh and separates their bodies, planting a kiss on Steve’s jawline.

“Thanks, love,” the pet name escapes his tongue, and he hopes that it doesn’t freak Steve out, because that insinuates that he loves Steve and he doesn’t, well at least not yet, but he didn’t mean to say it he ju-

_ shut up bucky _

It apparently doesn’t bother Steve because he remains his smile and turns to the door, opening it.

“After you,” Steve gestures outside, making Bucky fondly roll his eyes at the gesture.

Bucky still walks through, though, a blush still present on his cheeks from the attention.

Steve walks after him, closing the door. He idles up to Bucky’s side, reaching for his hand.

Bucky secretly smiles small at the gesture, but recovers by asking, “Where we goin’?”

Steve opens his car door for him and answers, “It’s a secret.”

Bucky’s responding eye roll is concealed by the shut of his door. He sits in the silence for a second, using that time to remind himself to breathe.

Steve enters the car and sits down, turning on the engine. It’s a pretty nice SUV, with leather seats (that are already flipped down for more room, Bucky notes) and a nice navigation system.

Bucky buckles himself in and turns to Steve, “If you don’t tell me where we’re going, I’ll have to kill you,” he deadpans, trying to make himself as threatening as possible.

It apparently doesn’t work because Steve just laughs and starts to drive. 

_ bastard _

“Okay, fine. We’re going ice skating then for some coffee,” Steve keeps his eyes on the road as he replies.

Bucky is impressed. Steve planned something actually fun, instead of the boring dinner and a movie.

“Y’know, I’m a profoundly good ice skater. I’m gonna show you up,” Bucky declares, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Steve just looks at him and smiles softly, “Sure you will.”

 

-

 

Bucky doesn’t show Steve up.

He’s apparently off his game, because within 45 minutes, he has almost fallen about six times and would have actually fallen all those six times if Steve didn’t have such fast reflexes and perfect balance to catch Bucky every time.

“Did you drug me or somethin’? ‘Cuz I swear, I’m like a fuckin’ olympian on the ice,” Bucky exaggerates, grip tightening on Steve’s hand as he feels his center of balance sway again.

“Yes, Bucky. I laced my seats with poison that could somehow infiltrate your clothes so I could be better than you at ice skating,” Steve laughs.

He looks so pretty against the lights around the skating rink, Bucky notes. They have an amber glow behind his head, and it’s hypnotizing Bucky with the way it brings out the gold-green flecks in Steve’s eyes.

“You can infiltrate my clothes yourself,” Bucky whispers, smirking up at Steve.

Bucky doesn’t know if it’s the cold or his comment, but Steve’s cheeks flush and he swallows before turning back to skate again.

“Keep up, Grandpa,” Steve smirks and actually skates  _ backwards _ that fucking  _ asshole _ .

Bucky huffs, never turning down trash talk and he skates as fast as he can to catch up with the blonde idiot.

“They call me Grandpa in the streets, but Kid in the sheets,” Bucky huffs, out of breath.

He plays his sentence back in his head before he realizes it was inappropriate and the insinuation was very illegal.

“Wait-” Bucky begins.

“Nice,” Steve laughs, grabbing Bucky’s hand again.

Now Bucky is getting into the rhythm of the skating, and he can keep up with Steve.

“Hey,” Bucky starts, getting Steve’s attention, “Do a spin.”

Steve gets a shit eating grin and slows them to a stop. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

And oh god, if Steve is the type to always do dares, Bucky is going to have loads of fun with him.

Bucky leans against the plastic barrier, watching Steve with a smile.

Steve clears his throat, “You ready?”

“Oh yeah, give it to me,” Bucky smirks, knowing the double meaning of his words.

Steve catches it with a surprised laugh before he recovers. He pulls his arms in and does a simple spin, without his feet leaving the ground.

He looks at Bucky, proud of his spin.

“No no no. A spin in the air,” Bucky challenges with a large grin.

Steves glares at him for a second before he answers, “Fine.”

He backs up, giving himself room. He gives one last glance at Bucky and then he’s off.

He skates a few strides, bends his legs, and he does actually manage a full spin, Bucky will give him that.

It’s just the landing.

Steve lands on his toes, which doesn’t go over well in ice skates. He flies forward, almost taking out a toddler in the process. He catches himself with his hands, but he still face plants.

And Bucky, well. Bucky isn’t the greatest person.

He doubles over in his laughs, and stumbles over to Steve, who is starting to stand up.

There’s ice on Steve’s nose, and his forehead is red from the cold temperature. He looks like he’s torn between laughing and crying.

“I- I’m so sorry,” Bucky manages through his laughs, but loses it again when Steve glares at him.

He helps Steve stand up, then asks him, “Are you okay?” and he’s barely able to say it without snickering.

“Oh, now you’re concerned? Really?” Steve is laughing too, now, eyes bright.

Bucky starts laughing again, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but you should’ve seen the look on that little girl’s face. Her whole life flashed before her eyes,” Bucky looks at Steve again, brushing the bit of water on his nose off.

Steve laughs too, whatever embarrassment he had is gone.

“How about we get coffee, now?” Steve suggests.

Bucky manages to stop laughing and just smiles and nods.

Steve guides them off the rink, with minor stumbling on Bucky’s part when he has to step off the ice and onto the ground.

They sit on the bench and take off their skates, which is kind of hard to do because Bucky’s fingers are numb. He’s always had shitty circulation.

“I can’t take ‘em off, my fingers are numb,” Bucky breathes a laugh, giving up as he puts his foot back on the ground.

Bucky feels high with happiness. He doesn’t want his high to crash, though it always inevitably does. He has a fleeting thought that maybe, with Steve, it won’t ever crash.

Steve is already done untying his, and he slides his feet into his shoes.

“Here,” Steve reaches down to untie Bucky’s skates for him, fingers working quickly.

Bucky smiles down at him, admiring the shadow his eyelashes cast on his face and the way his hair parts.

When his skates are untied, he quickly puts his own feet into his boots because of how cold the air is. Again, shitty circulation.

Steve picks up both their skates and goes to return them as Bucky ties his shoes.

Bucky pulls his phone out of his pocket, quickly checking it. He sees a text from Natasha:

_ He’s annoyingly nice. I like him u did good _

Bucky smiles and locks it, standing up. He brushes the ice flecks off his butt and fixes his gloves. Natasha likes Steve. Bucky likes Steve. Steve likes Bucky.

It’s so perfect, and Bucky is on cloud nine.

“Ready?” Steve asks, returning to Bucky.

Bucky crinkles his nose in a smile and takes Steve’s hand.

They start walking to the coffee shop a few stores down, and Bucky is basking in Steve’s warmth.

“Natasha likes you,” Bucky comments, turning to look up at Steve’s profile.

Steve looks surprised, “Really? She looked like she was waiting on a kill order to take me down.”

Bucky laughs, “No, she’s just wary after what happened last time. She’s looking out for me.”

Steves eyebrows furrow together and he looks at Bucky, “Last time? What do you mean?”

And  _ shit _ that’s a can of worms that Bucky’s not so sure he wants to open right now.

He settles for approaching it like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Well,” Bucky starts as they reach the coffee shop and Steve hold the door open for them, “My last boyfriend wasn’t… the greatest.”

Steve looks confused but brushes it off for the moment so they can order.

Steve is very pleasant to the barista, and orders an eggnog latte for himself and Bucky orders a white mocha.

Steve pays the guy, and they go sit by the pickup counter.

“Okay, so what do you mean he wasn’t the greatest?” Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes are kind.

Bucky looks down to take off his gloves and put them in his pocket. He really doesn’t wanna talk about it, but it’s better to get it out of the way now.

“He would say, like, really mean stuff and degrade me and shit,” Bucky confesses, willing himself to make eye contact with Steve.

Steve’s eyes have a flicker of anger and his hands twitch.

“You mean emotional abuse?” Steve chooses his words carefully, like he’ll set Bucky off.

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, I guess.”

Steve goes from angry to sad in the span of two seconds, and grabs Bucky’s hand gently. He brings it to his mouth and kisses the knuckles, sending heat through Bucky’s body.

“So, now Natasha is worried it’ll happen again?” Steve inquires, still rubbing his thumb soothingly on Bucky’s hand.

Bucky scoffs a laugh, “Yeah, that and she broke the guy’s rib and gave him two black eyes once she found out.”

Steve looks genuinely surprised for a minute before breathing a laugh, “No shit? Well, he deserved it anyway. I woulda done worse.”

Bucky smiles small, about to respond before the barista says Steve’s name.

“I’ll get it,” Bucky announces, and Steve starts to object, but Bucky is already up.

Bucky grabs the two drinks, and smiles at the barista as a thank you. He turns back to the table and sets the drinks down.

“Thank you,” Steve smiles at Bucky, who slides into his seat.

“No problem,” Bucky holds his drink in his hands to warm them up.

Bucky stares at Steve’s face for a moment, admiring the way the cold gave his cheekbones a pink tint.

“So, tell me your deepest secret,” Bucky sets his drink down and leans forward with his face on his hands.

Steve leans forward as well, on his forearms. He has a small smile and his eyes are flickering up and down Bucky’s face.

“I really want to kiss you,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky suddenly feels warm.

Bucky whispers, “That’s not exactly a secret, pal. I was thinking something more along the lines of a firs-”

Bucky is cut off by lips on his own. They’re both leaning forward and the angle is slightly making his elbows cramp but he doesn’t care. He opens his mouth, allowing Steve to trace his tongue with his own. It’s gentle and slow, not like the first time they kissed. Steve doesn’t kiss like he’s starving, but like he’s savoring Bucky. Steve bites his lip, and pulls back before it gets more heated.

“You’re a damn good kisser, Rogers, but I’d like to see what your fingers can do, too” Bucky whispers, and their faces are still only a couple inches apart.

Steve smirks, sitting back against his chair. He’s got that asshole posture, looking smug and relaxed. Bucky wants to give him a lap dance.

“Keep it up, and I might just have to fuck you in the middle of this coffee shop,” Steve comments so nonchalantly.

That makes Bucky choke on his drink, and a little bit of mocha goes down his chin. Steve still has a self-satisfied grin, but he hands Bucky napkins to help him clean himself.

“Jesus fuck,” Bucky laughs, still cleaning up the drops on the table.

Steve breaks his smug asshole facade by laughing and tossing away the dirty napkins for Bucky.

Bucky watches him, a still slightly disbelieving smile on his face.

Steve sits back down and takes a drink of his coffee, not breaking eye contact with Bucky.

“Tell me about your family and friends. Also any pets?” Steve’s eyes are lit with genuine interest.

He’s looking at Bucky like he’s never been more excited to talk to anyone before.

And Bucky, well, he does what he does best: talk about himself.

 

-

 

Steve is currently five minutes into a story about joining the football team when he was scrawny and short. 

Bucky swears he’s in love.

Steve gets so animated when he tells stories. He makes facial expressions, he pauses for comedic effect, he uses his hands in wild gestures. 

“Raconteur,” Bucky interrupts Steve’s story, because he couldn’t hold it back.

Steve pauses and it’s really cute how his eyebrows furrow, “What?”

“Someone who is really good at telling stories. You’re a raconteur,” Bucky explains, smiling like a lovesick puppy.

“Oh,” Steve comments, smiling now.

_ literally nothing is funny why are we smiling!!!! _

They just stare at each other for a few seconds, smiling like idiots. Bucky knows they look like freaks but he’s just so happy.

Bucky interjects the silence, “Finish your story.”

Steve waves him off, “Nah, moral of the story is they didn’t let me on JV but let me on Varsity during my senior year after the growth spurt and Sam yelled at the coaches for being ‘superficial’,” Steve smiles at the memory.

_ Sam _ . From what Bucky’s heard tonight, Sam is great and Bucky and him would get along really well.

“I wanna meet him,” Bucky decides.

“Okay,” Steve has a small smile.

He’s playing with his empty coffee cup, seeing how many designs he can scratch on the white label.

“You gonna throw that away?” Bucky gestures to the cup.

Bucky finished before Steve and threw his away about twenty minutes ago.

“No,” Steve shakes his head, “I was thinkin’ I’d keep it as a souvenir from our first date.”

Bucky smiles and raises his eyebrows, “That’s a pretty shitty souvenir.”

“You’re right,” Steve tosses the cup into the trashcan and  _ makes it in, stupid perfect asshole _ , “I have the real thing right in front of me.”

Bucky pauses before he points out, “That’s also a pretty shitty souvenir.”

Steve holds his hand to his chest and looks offended, “I can’t believe you would say that. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” his voice is more serious now, eyes searching Bucky’s.

Bucky blushes and whispers, “Prove it.”

Steve’s pupils slightly enlarge and his hand twitches. Bucky is secretly proud that he caused it.

“Thought you don’t put out on the first date,” Steve murmurs, and his gaze is suddenly making Bucky squirm.

“‘S not the first date,” he manages, not breaking eye contact.

Steve gets a small smile and stands up, “How ‘bout we get out of here?”

Bucky smiles mischievously, “I’d love to.”

Steve leads them to the door with a hand on the small of Bucky’s back. He can hear one of the customers whistle at them as they leave.

Bucky laughs, even though his face gets red at the attention.

He’s really about to trust this guy enough to have sex with him after roughly 12 hours of knowing him.

And it doesn’t even feels fast, it feels  _ right _ . It feels like they’ve known each other for years.

Steve smiles over his shoulder at the customer, and they walk out into the cold air. Bucky’s breath hitches at the temperature drop, and he reaches in his pockets for his gloves to put them on.

“You cold?” Steve asks, forehead creased with concern.

Bucky shrugs, “A bit,” but his teeth chattering together gives away that he’s more than a bit cold.

Steve starts shrugging off his jacket, but Bucky stops him.

“Don’t be dumb, Steve. I won’t be responsible for giving you hypothermia,” Bucky insists, pulling Steve’s jacket back over his shoulders.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn’t try to take it off again. Bucky smiles with satisfaction and tucks himself under Steve’s arm.

Bucky doesn’t catch the small smile Steve has when he looks at the side of Bucky’s head.

“You hungry at all?” Steve implores, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s arm.

Bucky shakes his head, “No. Coffee makes me full.”

Steve hums and presses a kiss on the top of Bucky’s head. Just ‘cause he can.

Bucky is quiet for a moment before he ventures, “Wanna know what else makes me full?”

Steve braces himself for the answer.

“Dick,” Bucky discloses matter-of-factly, smiling to himself.

Steve whistles and answers, “Keep it up, Buck. Keep it up.”

Bucky feels a jolt of excitement through him. If Steve doesn’t carry out the promises he’s been making, he might cry.

They reach the car, and Steve lets Bucky in again, this time with a smirk and a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

Bucky’s veins are thrumming as he buckles himself in the car. He may be bad at social encounters in general, but he knows he’s good at sex.

Steve gets in the other side of the car and they’re off.

“Can I put my music on?” Bucky asks, even though he’s already pulling up his music app.

Steve nods, “Yeah. Just set your phone up with bluetooth.”

Bucky has the phone connected quickly, and it displays his phone name on the screen.

“The Winter Soldier?” Steve laughs, looking from the screen to Bucky.

Bucky nods and smiles without looking up, “Yep. Nat came up with it after I dropped it in an ice puddle outside and it still functioned perfectly.”

Steve chuckles, turning his attention back to the road as Bucky chooses his playlist.

He settles on his indie playlist. He puts it on shuffle but selects “Way Down We Go” by Kaleo to play first.

He locks his phone and turns to look at Steve, who is tapping his thumb on the steering wheel to the beat. Satisfied with his music choice, Bucky closes his eyes and leans his head back on the seat.

He’s daydreaming about meeting Sam and him, Steve, Sam, and Natasha having lunch together when he feels a hand on his thigh.

Bucky looks down and Steve’s (large) hand is on his thigh, making home right in the middle. He feels heat course through him and he tells himself it’s pathetic to get turned on by this but it’s been over a  _ year _ since he got laid and Steve is so hot.

He places his hand over Steve’s and looks over at him, who is keeping his face neutral as he watches the road.

_ asshole _

Steve acts like he heard Bucky because his hand moves further up until it’s settled in the crease of his thigh, and his hand just brushed Bucky’s dick and  _ fuck _ he’s gonna lose it if Steve goes any further.

Bucky’s breath hitches, and he squeezes Steve’s hand in an attempt of restraint. It doesn’t work, because Steve squeezes more before rubbing his thumb over that  _ area _ .

That’s it, Bucky can’t take it.

“Steve, pull over,” Bucky manages, eyes shut.

He can practically  _ feel  _ Steve’s smirk, but he hears Steve reply, “As you wish.”

Bucky opens his eyes to see they’re in more of a rural stretch of street, and Steve pulls off to the side. He turns the car off, but leaves the headlights on.

That’s all Bucky needs.

He goes across the center console the best he can in his 5’11” stature and straddles Steve.

“You’re a bastard,” Bucky breathes, attacking Steve’s mouth.

Steve smiles against Bucky’s lips and punctuates his breath with a grope at Bucky’s dick.

“In the back. Now,” Steve orders, sending a jolt down Bucky’s spine.

Bucky immediately complies, scrambling to get to the back of the car. He makes it there and lies down, watching Steve follow with a lot more control.

“You got stuff?” Bucky moans as Steve kisses his neck.

Steve bites him and pulls back, holding up a condom and a pack of lube.

Bucky smiles and bites his lip, already pulling his jacket and shirt off.

Steve’s eyes trail down Bucky’s chest and abdomen, and Bucky smirks at him.

“Damn, Barnes,” Steve murmurs, leaning forward to kiss the space in between Bucky’s collarbones.

While he does this, Steve effectively removes Bucky’s jeans and underwear in one tug, which,  _ how??? _

Bucky whimpers at the loss of friction, which Steve swallows with his mouth.

“You, too,” Bucky purrs, scratching at Steve’s scalp.

Steve responds with another deep kiss and pulls his shirt off, followed by his jeans and underwear. He makes it look so easy and Bucky has a faint flare of jealousy at how many people Steve’s been with in order to practice.

And, okay. He knew Steve was going to be built but this is just excessive. 

He has long, rippling planes of abs that crease so beautifully and Bucky wants to lick the dips. His chest is wonderful and broad, making Bucky want to scratch the skin there.

And then his dick. It’s not extremely big, but definitely larger than normal. It’s smooth yet veiny and it’s making Bucky’s mouth water.

He pulls Steve down by the neck to kiss him again. Steve goes easily, and reaches in between them to tug at Bucky’s dick.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Bucky moans at the contact.

Steve doesn’t miss a beat and rips open the package of lube to coat his fingers.

“How long has it been?” Steve asks into Bucky’s neck.

“A, uh,” Bucky groans as Steve puts one finger in, “year. But I do it to myself.”

“You do it to yourself? I bet it doesn’t feel nearly as good as what I’m doing now,” Steve growls from deep in his chest.

“No, no it doesn’t, Stevie,” Bucky protests, rolling his hips.

Steve takes his free hand and pins Bucky's hips down, making Bucky moan again.

He inserts another finger, scissoring them in a way that makes Bucky’s back arch up. He really doesn’t ever want to leave this sweaty, sex soaked car.

“Want you to ride me,” Steve echoes, voice deep with lust.

Bucky nods enthusiastically, making Steve smile. They switch positions, and Bucky doesn’t really think he’s as open as he should be since Steve only got two fingers in, but he loves the burn.

It takes a minute for them to be able to find new comfortable positions. It must look comical for two good sized men to be trying to fit together in the back of a car

“Shit, you’re big,” Bucky breathes, easing down onto Steve.

Steve responds with a breathless laugh, and grabs Bucky’s hips.

“God, you feel so good,” Steve groans, and he’s holding back the urge to buck his hips up.

Haha,  _ buck _ .

Bucky bottoms out and they both moan at the contact. He sits for a few seconds, hands on Steve’s chest to adjust.

“Your body is sinful,” Bucky breathes in disbelief, “You sure you don’t take steroids?”

Steve scoffs a laugh and leans up to kiss Bucky, “As far as I know,” he whispers against Bucky’s lips.

The next ten minutes are sweaty, beautiful, and, honestly, mind blowing. Bucky’s thighs are sore, but he’s always been a dick riding champ and he thoroughly enjoys the moans he’s pulling from Steve. Steve’s hands go from Bucky’s hips, his ass, his waist. It’s all  _ touching _ and  _ breathing into each other _ and Bucky feels so incredible.

He lasts longer than he thought he would, and they come together, with Bucky’s nails making marks into Steve’s chest, and Steve’s hands leaving bruises on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky pulls off Steve, moaning at how sensitive he is, and collapses next to his lover.

“Holy shit,” Bucky is staring at the roof of the car, chest heaving.

Steve is in a similar state with his chest glimmering in a sheen of sweat against the moonlight coming in the windows. The car windows are fogged up, and it looks like that one scene in Titanic.

“Yeah. I feel like I should be paying you or something right now. You’re so good at this,” Steve laughs, looking over at Bucky.

Bucky echoes his laugh and turns on his side, making eye contact with Steve.

“How ‘bout we start with cleaning up and letting some air in here?” Bucky suggests.

Steve sits up in response and grabs a towel from a cupholder. He was questioningly over-prepared for sweaty car sex.

Steve wipes off Bucky quickly, then wipes the sweat off of both of them.

“Did you smudge my eyeliner?” Bucky asks, still laying down and watching Steve crack the windows.

“Yeah. Makes you look even more stunning and fucked out,” Steve kisses Bucky on the forehead.

Steve leans over and grabs his phone, making Bucky’s chest float because he’s suspicious Steve’s going to open the camera.

He does.

“Hold still,” Steve positions his phone above Bucky, biting his lip.

Bucky closes his eyes then opens them a bit, and the shutter makes a sound.

“You’re amazing,” Steve kisses Bucky on the lips, leaning over him.

“I wanna see,” Bucky makes grabby hands for the phone.

Steve hands it to him, and  _ okay barnes i see u _ .

The picture isn’t half bad. It’s slightly blurry, and you can see Bucky’s top half. His eyes are startling blue and his eyeliner is smudged just as Steve said.

Bucky locks the phone and looks up at him adoringly, “Wanna stay over at my house?”

Steve smiles and kisses over a mark on Bucky’s chest, “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

-

 

Bucky wakes up in his bed, feeling well rested and vaguely sweaty.

He realizes he’s sleeping on somethin- no, some _ body _ and looks up before he remembers last night.

Oh, yeah.

Last night, where he got the best dick of his life by the best man in the back of a car.

He stretches out, satisfied with the burn in his thighs. His head is in the crook of Steve’s neck and his leg is hitched on Steve’s abdomen.

_ nice _

Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, who is still fast asleep. He untangles himself as slowly and carefully as he can, wincing whenever he has to use his thigh muscles. He hasn’t been this sore in a while. He should get back in the gym.

He successfully unweaves himself from the long body in his bed. He stands up and looks at Steve admiringly. The 10 am sun is making Steve’s skin glow, and the black sheets are just hitting the middle of his stomach. He looks ethereal.

Well, with the exception of the dried drool on his chin.

We all have flaws.

Bucky smiles to himself and slides on some gym shorts and a sweatshirt. He still has his socks on from last night, which is weird. He probably rode Steve while wearing them. It’s okay, he’s done more embarrassing things.

He goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He looks in the mirror, seeing his makeup smudged all over his eye, making him look like he cried then went swimming. 

_ yikes _

Bucky brushes his teeth and takes his makeup off then washes his face. He still has hygeine standards. His hair fell out overnight, but it’s in loose waves so Bucky just runs a brush through it and leaves it.

He goes to the kitchen and turns on the kettle to make coffee. He realizes he doesn’t know how Steve takes his coffee, but if he drinks eggnog lattes, he probably likes it sweet.

He turns around and jumps, finding Natasha leaning against the wall and staring at him. She’s in a sweatshirt with a mysterious stain on it and sweatpants with Batman socks that Bucky bought her.

“Shit, Nat. You scared the hell outta me,” Bucky grumbles.

He moves to sit on the dining table as Natasha stalks into the room and pulls out a mug for herself.

“He here?” Natasha asks, ignoring Bucky’s statement and gesturing with her head to his room down the hall.

“Yeah. We came in around midnight last night,” Bucky tries to say it without a smile, but a little one escapes his lips.

Nat nods, “Yeah I heard. You guys were giggling like toddlers. Were you drunk?”

Bucky shakes his head and smiles at Natasha from under his eyelashes.

“Jesus, that makes it even worse,” Natasha mutters under her breath, moving to the fridge to grab something to eat.

“We fucked,” Bucky blurts, he’s never been one to keep things to himself.

This surprises Natasha, because she takes her head out of the fridge to look at Bucky with her eyebrows raised.

“No shit? Where? It wasn’t here, the walls are too thin and I woulda heard your loud ass,” Natasha points out, resuming her search in the fridge.

Bucky pointedly ignores the last part of her comment, “In his car,” Natasha looks like she’s about to ask ‘how?’ but Bucky continues, “He has an SUV and his seats were down.”

Natasha looks impressed. Bucky guesses that it  _ is _ kind of a feat to achieve with how tall they both are.

Bucky Barnes, everyone. He fails papers but still can successfully fuck a tall guy in a car.

“That’s dedication. How was he?” Natasha implores, pulling a yogurt cup out and a spoon.

Natasha sits on the counter as the kettle whistles. Bucky goes to turn it off and starts pouring their coffee, his back to her.

“Amazing. Well, actually, he didn’t technically fuck me yet. I rode him,” Bucky adds.

“Bucky, oh my god!” Natasha laughs.

Bucky turns back to face her as he waits for the water to finish pouring through the coffee grounds.

“I couldn’t help it. I mean, you’ve seen him. He only gets better when he’s naked,” Bucky discloses, throwing a wink to his best friend.

Natasha looks up, pretending to think on the comment before she replies, “I can see that,” and points at Bucky with her spoon.

Bucky turns back to the coffee, pouring cream in his and Steve’s, leaving Natasha’s black. He’s about to respond before he hears a rough voice.

“See what?” Steve asks, and Bucky turns to see him dressed the same way as Bucky and rubbing his eye.

Bucky can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at the sight.

“Nothin’,” Bucky goes to kiss Steve on the cheek, handing him his coffee.

Steve looks down at it and back up at Bucky, a thankful smile on his face.

Bucky looks over at Natasha, who’s watching them over the rim of her mug that she somehow had time to grab in the two seconds it took Bucky to hand Steve his. Bucky swears she moves like a cat: quick and soundless. It’s kinda creepy.

“Mornin’,” Steve nods at Natasha, and Bucky leans against the counter, getting his own coffee.

Natasha nods back, still scrutinizing Steve with her gaze. Bucky is about to cut in, but Natasha speaks.

“You work at the campus Starbucks?” Natasha questions, putting her mug on the counter.

Steve smiles, “Yeah. It’s been a year now. I love that job.”

Bucky picks up his mug and idles up next to Steve, leaning on his shoulder. Steve kisses Bucky’s head in response, making Bucky smile into his coffee.

_ damn this stupid romantic ass thats making me have FEELINGS again _

“You in school?” Natasha asks, and Bucky suddenly realizes he doesn’t even know the answer to that question.

“Yeah. I’m only still getting my undergrad. I was in the army from when I was 18 ‘til I turned 21. I’m in my second year, majoring in History,” Steve replies.

Wow, history. Bucky knew he was in the army, but didn’t know he was in school now. He must have some sort of work-study job with the University.

“The army? Damn. How high did you get?” Natasha’s interest is piqued now. She’s always been interested in the militia and intelligence field. She wants to be an agent.

Steve sets his coffee down on the counter next to him before he answers, “I was a Sergeant. Deployed in Afghanistan. My squadron was in charge of receiving intelligence from the smaller sectors of Al Qaeda wherever we could find it.”

Natasha whistles, and Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so impressed. She just might try to steal Steve from him.

“Yeah. My best friend Sam was deployed with me. It was some of the best times and worst times of my life,” Steve looks nostalgic now, looking at the floor.

There’s a beat of silence before Bucky chimes in, “Why’d you stop?”

Steve looks back up from the floor, making eye contact with Bucky.

“One of our missions went bad. We lost half our squadron. Sam took it the hardest, and I asked for permanent leave. We were just too young to deal with that shit. Still are,” Steve’s answer has an edge of emotion.

Bucky and Natasha share a glance that says to stop prodding Steve about it. 

Natasha gets up and walks forward, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Her eyes are warm and her forehead is creased with concern.

“Thanks for your service, man. That’s tough shit,” she comments.

Steve nods and gives her a small smile.

She salutes them both and heads back to her room, coffee and a banana in hand.

Bucky steps forward and grabs Steve’s hand, gesturing for him to follow Bucky.

Steve holds Bucky’s hand and lets Bucky lead him into the living room and onto the couch.

Steve sits down, setting his coffee on the table while Bucky grabs a soft brown blanket. He sits close next to Steve and drapes the blanket over them.

“Y’know, Nat wants to be an agent for the CIA,” Bucky acknowledges, turning so he’s facing Steve.

“Really? Wow. That’s quite a goal. And a commitment,” Steve points out.

Bucky shrugs, “She’s never been awfully dependent on people. I think if anyone could do it, it’s her.”

Steve nods, and his eyes are so alluring and striking. Bucky really wants to, like, take a picture of them and stare at them all day.

“I like you. A lot. I know it’s only been one day, but it feels longer,” Bucky confesses, eyes dropping to the seat of the couch.

Steve gently pushes Bucky’s chin up. His eyes search Bucky’s before he leans forward, kissing Buck-, no, more like caressing Bucky’s lips with his own. It’s sweet, innocent, and unexpected, making Bucky’s stomach do a flip.

“I like you a lot, too,” Steve whispers, pulling back and running a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone.

Bucky nods with an elated smile. Steve likes him, too. It’s going to be okay with them.

“Wanna watch Luke Cage with me? I’ve been meaning to start it, and haven’t gotten around to it,” Bucky asks, turning on the TV.

Steve has a grossly infatuated smile on his face as he nods.

Bucky turns on Netflix, and he thinks there’s no place he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> i might write a short epilogue introducing sam !  
> feedback is always appreciated :-)  
> tumblr: generallando


End file.
